Everyone has his achilles heel... me? I have a hill. Literally. No, that is not a typo... what I'm referring to is the gigantic... no... humongous hill at the start of my favorite mountain bike trail.
I love mountain biking. It's by far my favorite outdoor activity and I try to do it as often as time permits. So of course, today being Sunday I hung my bike up on the rack, donned the ridiculous tight, padded shorts (who designs these things anyway?) and went off to the park.
Today being Sunday, the parking lot was filled with expensive SUVs packed with tanned people dressed in the latest in bicycle designer gear. You know those very colorful and bright, tight tshirts that make one look like a professional biker? That designed gear. I always feel rather inadequate in my $15 (sale, 50% off) shorts and one of the white or gray tanktops that I tend to wear when biking.
But enough about clothes... now the bikes. If my clothes make me feel inadequate... well... my bike just makes me want to hide under the nearest trail blazer. As everyone in the lot is putting together their Treks, Cannondales and other assorted shiny, high performance mountain bikes covered with shocks and other great stuff (Shimano, I bet) I have my bike. Well, at least it looks like a bike. It has shocks (front, only) and it's got Shimano stuff (ooooh), but that's where the good part ends. I've 18 gears, out of which 6 don't work, but that's okay, I never use the higher gears anyway... It needs a tune-up. Badly. I'm afraid when I take it to shop and ask for one they'll laugh me out the door. "Lady, it'll be cheaper to just get a new bike!". The good part is, the gears that work actually shift; most of the time.
I remember one time a seasoned veteran biker who was inflating his tires next to me (doesn't that just sound dirty?) struck up a conversation.
"What the heck is that?".
"A bike".
"No, really, where'd you get that?".
"Long story, there's a brand name sticker on the bike... see?".
"oh, well, good luck..."
I truly do believe he meant that last part.
Now the trail. I usually bike at the MDC in West Hartford. Known to the non-biking universe as the West Hartford Reservoir. There are many really nice trails at this park. Some are great for beginners, some advanced stuff (or so I hear) and everything in between.
There's really only one way to get to all the trails from the main parking lot... follow the asphalt-covered road to the first fork... or the next... depending which trail you intend to take. This is also where mountain bikers get separated from just bikers. Me? I take the very first right turn into the dust-covered (or mud, depending on weather, today it was dust) rocky trail that leads into the woods. I can do that... I have a cheap bike and am not afraid of abusing it. (I have a theory on the owners of the really nice, expensive bikes. It runs along with my theory on the owners of the really nice, expensive SUVs. In a gist: they never see the really rough terrain, the equipment is just too expensive for that.) Follow the trail... cross the asphalt path once more and I'm off into the woods, or rather climbing up a long, annoying hill to try to get to the really fun trails.
I have a goal in life. This goal is to be able to climb that one, long hill in one shot. Don't laugh at me, it's a worthy goal.
Time to present another one of my bike-related theories. The only time you will meet other bikers (unless they came with you) and hikers on any of the trails beyond the basic asphalt is when you are climbing a long or steep (or both) hill and are near dying. It's true. I proved it today. I climbed several hills that gave me some trouble, not enough to stop, but enough to start breathing heavily and on each and every such occasion there were people.
Case in point:
Setting: Long-ass, steep hill on a trail.
There I am climbing the hill in the first gear, breathing heavily, drenched in sweat, my face the color of a freshly cooked lobster when another biker is passing me by with ease.
"Hi" - he says, cyclist do that, we're nice people.
"Hello" - I wheeze in return.
"Are you okay?" - You could tell he was concerned, I'm not sure if it was the bright red color of my face or the fact that my knuckles were whiter than snow as I gripped the steering column in some sort of desperate hope that the guy wouldn't stop. Yah, too late, he did.
"I'm fine" - I said through clenched teeth and continued my painful ascent.
He shrugged, whipped his pedals around a couple of times and cleared the hill without a problem.
Now you may ask what is the point of me describing this embarrassing moment? It's this. Life is just not fair. See, I'm hardly an advanced biker (you can laugh here) but I'm not a beginner either... I just have this little hill climbing problem. Normally, I look cool and slick riding down the trails in some impossibly high gear (well, the ones that work on my bike anyway) the wind in my hair and so on.
The moral of the story? Next time you see a sweat-covered, red-faced female in cheap shorts on the side of the hill, don't think she's in trouble. Just because she looks like she's having a heart attack, that doesn't have to be the case, she's probably just horribly embarrassed about her hill-climbing ability.
